Don't you dare
by Grantaire-and-his-Bottle
Summary: Grantaire is trying to run away from his own mind, from the single face which appears in his head, slowly driving him mad.


**Note: a birthday present to my dearest ****MsTonksLupin****, she is just the best for me)**

Grantaire walks down the street, a grey rucksack on his back, a pack of cigarettes in his left pocket and a dark green jumper is tied around his waist.

The weather is at last warm and he is so tired of sitting at home, locked not only inside his apartment, but also in the trap of his own mind. He runs away, leaving in the room many of his problems, leaving them lying on his bed, painted on the windows, curling on the floor.

The cynic sighs and easily walks through the crowd, which is crossing the street in the opposite direction. In his pockets are only ten Euros, his t-shirt has a hole on its left sleeve and there are many other small troubles, which can't bother ink-haired Art student right now. He is tired of them, he wants to run away, just catch a train, without knowing where it's heading.

There is only one thing that is stuck in his mind. He sighs as a warm sunlight tickles his cheeks. He starts running, just for the sake of moving. He despises himself so much, hating himself for being a coward, for drinking so much.

For being afraid to call a person he loves more than his own life. Of course more. His life is a kind of miserable one.

He will stop, calm down and make a picture. But there will be no golden hair on the paper, his mind won't let his hand draw perfect lines of the face, of the lips_

Grantaire runs, without knowing where he will stop. He tries to run away from himself.

But then he suddenly collides with a figure of a man; the push was so forceful that both of them fall on the pavement. The cynic, breathing heavily, glances and his heart skips one beat.

Enjolras, rubbing his forearm sits on the ground opposite Grantaire. They just sit silently, looking away from each other, afraid to start the talk, afraid to say something wrong.

_Or maybe, it's just me who can't dare to spe_ _

"I've been actually going to your place, because you haven't answered your phone the whole day." Enjolras says, carefully watching R.

As the words slip from his lips, Grantaire's head unconsciously jerks up and he looks at Enjolras's eyes.

_Oh, hell. That's stupid. Why this damn Enjolras has such an impact on me? Why in every single scratch book his gazes haunt me, never letting me go. That's a problem. I must be ill. I mean I am not gay, I just…_

Enjolras stands up**,** shaking off the dust from his dark blue jeans and then gives a hand to Grantaire. "Stand up, R."

The cynic grabs the hand, feeling its warmth. _I just can't live without you. Like, you are__ "Thanks, Apollo, it's an honor to me to be_"

Enjolras sighs "Stop that, please." They walk down the street. Grantaire suddenly notices colors around him. At first it's been golden and yellow, just like the hair of Apollo, who is walking near. Then his eyes catch the sign of red: red cars, red-haired people, red jacket of Enjolras.

"Where are we going?"

"I don't know."

"Can I draw you?"

_Like if he says no, you won't do that. _

The young leader reminds silent for a second. Grantaire feels that he has asked for too much. A thought of vodka visits his mind.

But Enjolras reaches for his bag, hanging on his right shoulder, opens it and takes out a sheet of paper. The cynic's hands suddenly become very cold despite the warm weather.

"I found this in my bag yesterday."

R bites the inside part of his cheek. Yes, he deliberately put it there. He just couldn't resist. Then he sighs and reaches his hand to take it and through away, but Enjolras grabs it and pulls back.

Grantaire chuckles, never showing that his heart nearly dances in his ribcage.

They just walk. Dark-haired student is watching Enjolras, who pretends he doesn't notice. Grantaire don't dare to ask for more.

"I want to apologize." Enjolras says quietly as they enter a park in which are lots of kids and their parents, couples and other people with their own problems and their own destinies.

Grantaire nods on the bench and they sit there. "For what?"

Enjolras hides his face in hands, sighing sadly. When he looks back at R's face, the Artist holds his breath.

But Enjolras doesn't say anything. He smiles and waits until the smile reflects on the artist's face.

Grantaire's eyes open widely as he suddenly realize that Enjolras's just pulled him into a kiss, that he can actually feel the softness of the lips he can draw so good, that at last he can smell this golden hair. At last his heart's beating quickly, feeling happiness instead of apathy.

_No. Don't ask, please, don't spoil everything. Does it really matter why?_

"Enjolras." He moves away, looking guilty. "If you are doing this just because of pity, then I'd like you to stop. I am already broken."

Enjolras hasn't moved since R's broken a kiss. He slowly touches his own lips, like if he tries to feel the kiss by his fingers.

"That was my first kiss."

Grantaire, with all his problems and doubts, looks at him doubtfully. The nasty habit of a cynic takes over him once again. "Oh, wow, then my congratulations, our fearless leader." His hand moves to the cigarettes in the pocket.

The golden-haired student watches him, in his gaze hurt is visible.

_I hate myself._

"I just wanted to say that I liked that, but as I can see you don't know what love is. You just don't care." He stands up.

"Wait." Grantaire opens his rucksack and takes out one scratch book, then another one. He opens the first one on the random page. There is a figure of Enjolras speaking of something, freedom and France probably, with fire in his eyes. He turns the page, showing another picture where Enjolras is sitting under the tree, laptop on his knees and a coffee cup stand near. "Take these. All of them, go out of my head. Stop appearing in my mind. Stop tearing me apart. And don't you dare to say again that I don't know what love is."

R, still sitting on the bench, hangs the note books to Enjolras. But when he remains still, Grantaire troughs them to his feet, stands up and starts walking away, barely see his way. Lots and lots of sheets are lying on the ground with the only one face on all of them.

He dreamed about the moment he would be able just to touch Enjolras's hand, he didn't allow himself to think of more . This's been so wrong.

But another fingers curl around his left arm, squeezing it gently. Grantaire's given up. He is lost. But at least he is not alone.

"You do realize that you are driving me mad, Apollo."

"That thought has crossed my mind. We will think about it."

Gavroche, who's been hiding behind a big bush, silently make a "yesss" gesture and pulls out his phone.

To Courfeyrac: At last, they've kissed. Champagne to us all


End file.
